


Normal and Unremarkable Things

by emrisemrisemris



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Anal, Facial, M/M, Oral Sex, Standing up, after main action of ME2, bareback, dubiously safe alien fucking, filthy but tender, up against the window
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29743746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emrisemrisemris/pseuds/emrisemrisemris
Summary: He followed Garrus through the deserted mess area, the air abruptly cold as they left the warmth of the gun battery, and around the corridor. Shepard caught quiet voices from the main dormitory, but there was nobody else up. Garrus led the way to the port side observation deck, touched the door control, and Shepard caught his breath.Beyond the observation window, space yawned: more profoundly black than any photograph or canvas could capture, the stars distant hard glints almost smothered by the emptiness. He had looked into the depths of the universe almost every day of his adult life, and still, still, it sent shivers of awe down his spine.
Relationships: Male Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	Normal and Unremarkable Things

Shepard was half undressed, moaning as Garrus bent him back over the gunnery console, when the turian abruptly stilled - one hand still inside Shepard's waistband, claws digging in with expert precision - and said softly "I just thought of something. Come on."

"This had better be good," Shepard said, as Garrus pulled away. He closed his fly and shrugged his shirt back on, and was more or less decent when the door slid back.

He followed Garrus through the deserted mess area, the air abruptly cold as they left the warmth of the gun battery, and around the corridor. Shepard caught quiet voices from the main dormitory, but there was nobody else up. Garrus led the way to the port side observation deck, touched the door control, and Shepard caught his breath.

Beyond the observation window, space yawned: more profoundly black than any photograph or canvas could capture, the stars distant hard glints almost smothered by the emptiness. He had looked into the depths of the universe almost every day of his adult life, and still, still, it sent shivers of awe down his spine. 

The door began to close again; he automatically put a hand in the way and stepped through. Garrus was fiddling with the wall panel, and after a moment the room shaded slowly into darkness, only the emergency lights still on.

Shepard stepped up to the window, his reflection vanishing as the lights behind him faded, and stared out at nothingness.

Garrus came up behind him, quietly, half-leaned on his shoulder, and wrapped his arms around Shepard's torso. Shepard covered the turian's hands with his own, appreciating the warmth of Garrus' long body pressed against his back, and for a moment wanted to laugh at how absurdly small they were.  _ Normandy  _ was a little pocket of heat and air with a skein of energy and eight inches of metal between her crew and an ocean of empty cold, and they lived their lives as though this was a normal and unremarkable thing ...

"I don't think I'll ever get over how beautiful it is," Garrus said, over his shoulder.

"Beautiful?" Shepard glanced up, and felt his hair brush against Garrus' jaw. "Terrifying."

"I mean," Garrus drawled - his embrace tightened a little, and he bent to nuzzle at Shepard's hair - "they go together a lot."

Shepard pressed back into his grip, and said "So what, you just felt like stargazing?"

"I might have had other ideas." Garrus dislodged Shepard's hands and traced his own fingers up Shepard's torso, looking for the fastenings of his shirt. The magnetic strip gave way to a claw, peeling neatly open when Garrus pulled downwards. "Now, if you were a turian I'd have to find a corner, and observation windows don't usually have those. But humans don't have keelbones, so -"

Garrus' hands were at Shepard's hips again, and now he found himself shoved gently but firmly forward. He threw up both hands instinctively to avoid cracking his forehead into the glass, and hissed through his teeth as Garrus ground up against the base of his spine. 

He began to turn, and was put back, again without force but firmly. Garrus seemed intent on pinning him up against the observation window, leaning hard on the glass, as if there was nothing at all between his body and the void. The turian's hands were all over him: brushing hair away from his neck, pulling his waistband down and then off, pinching his nipples, pressing his legs apart.

Shepard heard Garrus bite open a lube packet, and braced himself against the glass as the turian slicked and opened his hole. Garrus' fingers lingered teasingly, rubbing and stroking, and finally putting the rounded-off tip of one claw unerringly into the spot that almost made Shepard lose his balance. 

With his other hand he reached around to wipe the last of the lube over Shepard's cock, before pressing him hotly into the glass.

It was hard to think with Garrus' fingers in him, now working-over his aching prostate with ruthless precision, but some dogged part of Shepard's engineer brain considered the angles involved and managed to assemble the words "Garrus, I don't know if this is going to work -"

"I can hold you," Garrus said, unconcerned, and slid his fingers free. He wiped his hands off on something that might have been Shepard's shirt, and suited the action to the word. Shepard leaned instinctively forward, putting as much weight as he could on the window, as Garrus scooped a hand under each of his knees and straightened up, spreadeagling Shepard in his arms. 

He always forgot how much strength Garrus had. Turians looked lanky to humans because their limbs were spindlier relative to their height; but on Garrus the heavy carapace concealed formidable muscle, and he had wrists like steel cables.

He closed his eyes and made an effort to control his breathing as he felt Garrus lining up his shaft, and breathed out as the turian entered him.

Garrus was very hard, the ridges along his shaft thickly prominent as he thrust. He worked himself into Shepard's hole with small, maddening thrusts of the hips that drove a little deeper every time. The near-vertical angle was unfamiliar and dizzying: Shepard felt himself settle a fraction of an inch as Garrus shifted his grip, and the small movement sent hot tremors through him. He opened his eyes without meaning to, blinking away wetness as Garrus' thrusts went deeper, and found the whole endless emptiness beyond the glass looking back. 

The chances there was another ship out there, with visual sensors pointed in the right direction, were as close to zero as made no difference; it still sent a guilty frisson down Shepard's spine to wonder what that hypothetical ship might think, to see him grinding himself against the glass, impaled raw on Garrus' scaled cock.

"Next time we go to Illium," Garrus whispered in his ear, "let's visit that hotel overlooking the spaceport."

They'd passed it every time they landed or took off, a cheap, unlovely tower whose balconies were spacious enough, and certainly convenient for travellers, but also directly under the flight path. 

Shepard half turned his head, and murmured "You like the idea of someone seeing us?"

"Maybe a little," Garrus murmured back, and let his grip lower a fraction. Shepard's breath caught in his throat. "Not for them to know who you are. Just enough that they can tell how much you like your turian boyfriend having you."

He felt Garrus' fingers tighten reflexively on his thighs as the turian thrust one more time, pulling them together, his shaft sinking into Shepard's hole to a depth that made him gasp; and then the sudden stretch and heat at his entrance, Garrus' cock stiffening as he came.

It took an inadvisable amount of anti-allergens to suppress the levo-dextro reaction to the point of being able to tolerate Garrus' coming in him raw; he'd be drowsy for a day or more. But it was worth it for the primal satisfaction that came of being fucked, being enjoyed; of going about a quiet day aboard ship still feeling, or imagining he felt, the warmth of Garrus inside him. 

More than once he'd kept his temper through a late-night vid call with the Illusive Man, or an early-morning meeting with Donnel Udina, thinking of it. The predictable spiel about the nebulously-defined needs of humanity was much diminished when set against the aching, tantalising memory of Garrus' touch, Garrus' scent, Garrus filling him.

The turian let him down, and he turned back to lean on the glass before sagging against it, knees protesting. 

Garrus went to his knees in front of him, and Shepard meshed his hands into the fringe of quills to bring the turian's mouth carefully onto his cock.

The turian jaw was open almost all the way to the joint: Garrus could take Shepard's cock as deep and hard as he pleased and had no need to stop to gulp down air. It was an alien, angular pattern of pressures and sensations that did not relent, and brought Shepard up to the edge of orgasm with dizzying speed.

He pulled at Garrus' fringe while he still had enough presence of mind to do so. Garrus got the message and pulled back, his tongue flicking dizzyingly over the head of Shepard's cock one final time as he withdrew. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes.

Shepard came on his face, still holding his head. 

They stood still for a moment, Shepard still cradling Garrus' head against his hip as his breathing and heartbeat receded from the peak. 

Then he reached down, cupping Garrus' chin in one hand, and rubbed his thumb over the turian's cheekplate, smearing the cum deliberately along the ridged plate. The blue facepaint bubbled and smeared with it as the pigments reacted with levo fluid, and Garrus made a wordless noise at the back of his throat.

There were a very limited number of things that dissolved standard-recipe turian facepaint, hardwearing as it was meant to be. The discovery by some adventurous couple soon after the First Contact War that human bodily fluids were among them had more or less created a new fetish on the spot. 

Paint was the tie to family and homeland, one of very few outward statements of it in a society that prided itself on having left clannishness and nepotism behind. Garrus had told Shepard not long after the Battle of the Citadel - when he'd still been a Spectre, and Garrus still weighing going back to C-Sec, neither of them sober - that he'd found Saren's unpainted face nearly as unsettling as his geth cybernetics. 

Three years later - with Shepard's death and Archangel's birth between them, and both of them scarred - they'd gone to bed, carefully, tentatively, and Garrus had guided Shepard's fingers to smear a gap in the blue bar that crossed his cheek. 

It was half a ritual now, filthy but ceremonial. Garrus liked Shepard's cum on his face, having the scent and taste sharp in his nose and mouth even after the evidence was wiped away. It was another kind of secret exposure: what would have been instantly and scandalously perceptible to another turian went unnoticed in a crew mostly of dim-nosed humans. Shepard knew he couldn't understand half of what the gesture meant, but the way Garrus shivered under his hand as Shepard marked him raised a sudden flare of animal possessiveness at the back of his own mind:  _ mine, mine. _

"Honours even," Shepard said softly, and offered Garrus a hand up.

They kissed in front of the observation window, Garrus' mouth still faintly astringent with Shepard's taste. 

When they pulled apart, Garrus glanced out at the starfield. It appeared stone-still; despite  _ Normandy  _ pulling fifteen thousand kilometres a second at in-system cruise speed, she would have needed to be going three or four times faster yet to see the distant stars move at all. "Any idea where we are?"

Shepard looked speculatively at the unmoving stars, shrugged, and said "We're due to hit the relay first thing, so we must be past the fourth planet by now. Though I'll be honest, my astrography's not what it used to be."

"Clearly," Garrus drawled, "you need to do more stargazing."


End file.
